Lines

You showed me the scars.
Four perfectly straight pale lines leaving your perfect body slightly marred.
The sight sent battery acid to my stomach.
Not because of disgust or shame, it was because it made my heart plummet.

Oddly enough, I loved you more in that moment.
Because I have one too, back from when my mind was less of a friend and more of an Opponent.
I couldn't touch the blade you see, I wanted to make it personal.
I'd scratch with my nails until I'd scab and bleed, this act of self doubt just rehearsal.

I pulled you into my warmth, feeling your wet touch of chlorine soak into my clothes.
I wanted to whisper why but I knew the correct answer was "It's ok, I know."
I wish I could of removed the rest of the cloth barriers between us just so I could kiss the past away on every piece of your flesh and you could embrace the withering new.
I wish our time together in that moment wasn't minutes and seconds so brief and few.

Our marks our faded now, mostly invisible to the naked eye.
And honestly we had very good reasons as to why.
Now we make new dents and impressions in our skin.
The press of kisses, the moisture of tongues, the lingering shivers of hands lightly caressing nerve endings, love mixed with sin.